


Heart-Shaped Carrots

by isuilde



Series: Scatter Like Flower Petals [3]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Domesticity, M/M, Sarumi Fest, dorks of the blues, no actually all the blues are dorks, teeth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saruhiko brings a bentou to work. Cue nosy coworkers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart-Shaped Carrots

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sarumi Fest to celebrate Sarumi Day on tumblr.

“Fushimi-san is very lucky,” Hidaka says, the first time Saruhiko brings Misaki’s bentou to work. “I wish I had a girlfriend, too. Must be nice to get a bentou box every day, with octopus-shaped sausages or heart-shaped carrots.” 

Saruhiko pauses—half of the bentou box still inside his bag—and raises his head. Hidaka’s comment has drawn everyone’s attention; he’s getting stares, some curious and some in disbelief, and isn’t that annoying. He sends a glare Hidaka’s way, making the brunette flinch and attempt to hide behind Fuse. 

“I didn’t think you’d have time for girls, Fushimi-san,” is Akiyama’s comment. “You don’t seem like the type to pursue relationships, or something.” 

“I never see you with any girl, either,” Enomoto adds. “When we asked you to go with the girls from general affairs, you weren’t interested at all.” 

The Blue Clan, Saruhiko decides as he takes out the bentou box and sets it on his working station, is sometimes nothing but a bunch of gossipers worse than middle-aged women who stays home and spends their time giggling over rumors. They’re all professionals, of course, but there are times when Saruhiko doubts the sanity of his superiors and coworkers. 

“I don’t have one,” he mutters, clicking his tongue in annoyance. His fingers removes the lid of the box, and as his nose welcomes the pleasant smell of Misaki’s cooking, his stomach gives a soft growl. He’s hungry, and he’s still got a lot to finish up if he wants to go home in time, which is why he decided to just eat lunch in his station, but that, apparently, is a mistake. 

“Eeh, you don’t have a girlfriend? Then who gave you that, Fushimi-san?” 

Hidaka never knows when to shut up. Saruhiko chooses not to look up, though, his mouth is watering and the karaage looks really good, and his stomach right now takes first priority. Lucky for Hidaka, because otherwise Saruhiko would have thrown a knife at him. 

“A friend,” he answers distractedly, chopsticks moving to bring a piece of sausage into his mouth. It isn’t shaped like octopus—nothing in the bentou is shaped like anything, just cut into bite sizes and arranged neatly into a box. The rich taste that fills Saruhiko’s mouth is more important than the bentou’s appearance anyway; there’s no way Misaki would have the patience to make cute-looking bentou, so Saruhiko never even thinks about it. 

“Well, she must like you so much then, that she made you a bentou.” That one comes from Domyouji, curiosity still underlining his voice. “Are you going to ask her out, Fushimi-san?” 

Saruhiko swallows and stops. 

Is he going to ask Misaki out? Are they even going out? 

They’ve been living together for several months, yes—it’s been hectic since the two of them had come into an understanding, and they had to figure out a lot of things, but everything’s working out pretty nicely. They’re having sex regularly; Saruhiko still has plans to screw Misaki on the balcony (or being screwed, whatever) even though Misaki was so adamantly against it. They have breakfast together, sometimes dinner, too, if Misaki has the time to cook, and they divide the house chores. He loves Misaki, sure, and Misaki did tell him that he loves Saruhiko, too, whenever he thinks Saruhiko is asleep, but— 

But they don’t go out on dates. Misaki doesn’t hold his hands when they’re out to buy things, Saruhiko doesn’t buy him flowers or chocolates to celebrate Valentine’s of White Day, and they don’t even kiss each other in the morning. 

His eyes narrowing, Saruhiko clicks his tongue, because what the fuck, he’s trying to eat and his coworkers keep trying to pry into his life. “Nosy coworkers when I’m trying to eat lunch because I still have a fuckload of shits to take care of… and of all things why is everyone getting so worked up over a bentou box?  It’s not like we don’t have things to do, and today is definitely not a slow day, and people who try to pry into another person’s life are annoying morons…” 

The atmosphere in the rom decidedly drops several degrees. 

“Ahahaha,” Enomoto raises his voice, a forced humor behind his shaky tone. “R-right, isn’t it time for lunch? Come on, Fuse, let’s go—Hidaka, you’re paying our lunch today.” 

“Actually, Hidaka is paying for everyone’s lunches today.” 

“Wh—Domyouji-san, I don’t have that much money!” 

“You dug your own grave, man.” 

With that, the occupants of the room slowly filter out. Saruhiko clicks his tongue, watches Benzai’s blue coat disappears as the door closes behind him. The silence that fills the room is not unwelcomed, though it’s feels weird nonetheless, so Saruhiko turns his attention back to the bentou. 

Misaki still puts vegetables in, even though he knows Saruhiko won’t eat them. Today is a mix of carrots and lettuce; his chopsticks moves to remove the vile things off the box, when he notices that the carrots are cut into small heart shapes. 

What the fuck. 

He snorts, left hand reaching for his cell phone and flicks it on. He hits speed dial, listens to the monotone dial tone—three-four-five-six—and then Misaki’s voice rings angrily in his throat, “It’s lunch hour, you shitty Monkey, do you have a fucking idea how busy I am right now?!” 

He hums, taking his time, eyes still fixed on the small heart-shaped carrot wedged in between his chopsticks. On the other side, Misaki’s yelling at someone about serving table number eleven, and the fact that he doesn’t hang up makes Saruhiko’s lips twitch up. 

“Really, Mi-sa-kiii…?” he drawls, just because he can. “Heart-shaped carrots?” 

He hears Misaki’s breath catches, and for a long moment, Misaki is silent. Saruhiko imagines the red that spreads across Misaki’s cheeks, down to his neck and even reaching the tips of his ears. 

“It’s. I—fuck. You never eat your vegetables, Saru, what the fuck?!” 

“I was trying to pick them off.” 

“Fuck, of course you were, goddammit.” 

“I’ll eat them,” Saruhiko says sincerely, still staring at the carrot that he’s picked up. “I’m looking at it now, and I’ll eat them.” 

“Don’t just eat the carrots—eat all your fucking vegetables, you idiot! How the fuck do you even stay healthy?!” 

“They taste green,” Saruhiko says, ignoring the way Misaki grumbles in his ear about how green is a color, and nothing tastes green. “Say, Mi-sa-kiii… how much extra time did you take in making this?” 

Misaki makes a ‘tch’ sound. “Don’t flatter yourself too much, damn Monkey.” 

“Everyone was curious whether I got myself a girlfriend or not.” 

“Hah, so the Blues really do have that much fucking time, huh? Get the fuck to work, you shits, your paycheck comes from our taxes!” 

“But Misaki doesn’t even pay taxes,” he replies lazily, then lets out a soft chuckle when Misaki splutters. He hears something clangs on Misaki’s side, listens to the other man curse, turns his gaze to the bentou box, and thinks, yes, maybe he should ask Misaki out. 

“Hey, Misaki?” 

“What?!” the older man snaps, irritated and annoyed, probably because he’s trying to juggle his work while taking Saruhiko’s call. “If I got fired for you calling in the middle of our busy hour, Saru, I swear—“ 

“Go out with me.” 

Misaki stops dead in his sentence, and Saruhiko waits. 

He doesn’t reply, and that’s absurd, isn’t it, the way Saruhiko’s heart suddenly decides to get up and run a mile a minute. 

Someone is yelling on the other end of the line, frustrated words that turn into meaningless jumble in his ear, and Misaki yelled  a “yeah, I got it, I’ll get there in a fucking minute, just chill!” before grumbling about idiots who likes to call in the middle of the work and being stupid, stupid, stupid monkey, didn’t Misaki ever tell him about Anna telling people that they’re a fucking married couple anyway— 

“What?” Saruhiko says dumbly. 

“I said, Anna told everyone that we’re basically a fucking married couple, and you’re asking me to go out with you?! Fuck you very much, Saruhiko.” 

Saruhiko blinks, feeling giddy relief spreads inside his chest and laughter climbing up his throat so fast he nearly chokes on them. His brain hasn’t quite all caught up though, because the next thing out of his mouth is “do you want a ring?” 

“Oh my god.” Misaki says, sounding like he’s about to kill someone. “You are so lucky I love you.” 

The line goes dead, and Saruhiko stares blankly at the carrot, before letting out the laughter tickling the back of his throat in breathless chuckles.

Fucking married couple, he said. Saruhiko should’ve known. 

He brings the carrot into his mouth, makes a face when the distinct fresh taste of the vegetable hit his tongue, quickly chowing and swallowing it down before stuffing his mouth with rice and a piece of fish. The corners of his lips are still tugged upwards, and he kind of hates how silly it is that he doesn’t think he can bring them down, but for once, that’s okay, too. 

He should buy a ring on the way home, just because. 

**——-o0ofinitoo0o——-**


End file.
